


He Dreams of Such Things

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Goodsir-centric, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: Eleven mini-chapters within, but I thought this one best to post all-in-one.This is the story of an anatomist, a Netsilik girl, and a necklace.Of an item lost and found,Of a love found and lost,Of dreams that live and die,And of the man who dreams them.
Relationships: Harry D. S. Goodsir & Lady Silence | Silna, Harry D. S. Goodsir/Lady Silence | Silna
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	He Dreams of Such Things

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Most Excellent [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac) for introducing me to The Terror in the first place, and for helping me out with a lot of things for this fic; and also for their good-natured tolerance in letting me bounce a gazllion thoughts and questions and ideas off of them on a daily basis for almost two months while I was working on it! They deserve every gold thing there is! ;)
> 
> I do not own any of the characters in this fic; they belong to writers, producers, actors, AMC, etc, etc.  
> ALSO - I freely acknowledge that I have made use of some lines of dialogue and situations from the TV series - and that they do not belong to me. These belong to AMC, producers, writers, actors, etc. 
> 
> I have quoted, described, augmented and embellished for fic needs, 💗 *with LOVE* 💗, and added some diversional scenes of my own.
> 
> And I am making no money from this. 
> 
> _This is fiction - and that's a fact!_
> 
> *** Slick Write says this takes 43 minutes to read... but I've divided into numbered chapterlets, so take a break if you like, then come back if you like. ***

.

One week before Harry Goodsir is to report for first muster on HMS Erebus, his mother Elizabeth presents a small box to him. “Harry, I’d like you to have this,” she says. “A farewell gift, as you embark on the expedition. My grandmother gave it to my mother, who then gave it to me.”

Harry opens the box to find a necklace of gold-colored metal alloy. The chain is not separate from the pendant; rather, it’s part of the entire design of the necklace. The pendant is a good-sized heart, fashioned with the same alloy as its chain. Open metal work is featured in the design; the heart shape serves as a frame for three flowers of six petals each, the center of each flower adorned with a white faceted quartz crystal. 

He lifts the necklace from its box and laces the chain through his fingers to set the pendant dangling and twirling, the crystals catching and reflecting the light. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “But… forgive my asking, wouldn’t you wish to give this to Jane instead? As you’ve described, it seems a tradition to pass it along from mother to daughter.”

“I’ve decided to change that tradition slightly. I choose to give it to a son. To you.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. It’s yours now. I hope you won’t feel obliged to keep it for a long time.”

“I’ll gladly keep it. In fact, I’d like to take it with me on the expedition, to keep you close to me. With your permission?”

“My own sweet son,” she says, stroking his cheek. “Yes, do, and please pass it along when you happen to find your special someone. When you’re ready, of course.”

“Mother, I - I’m going to be on a ship.”

“Yes, dear. I know.”

“There won’t be any ladies on the ship.”

“I understand.”

“Although, after we find the Passage, we’ll be going to the Sandwich Islands, and I may meet a fine lady at that time. Or perhaps after we return home.”

“Matters of the heart are not to be rushed, my dear. It may be quite soon, or not. But when it happens, you’ll know. When you want to give your heart away to the one who enchants you like no other, then also give this heart as a tangible token of your affection. After you do, I’ll be most pleased to meet that person.”

“That lady,” he says, placing the necklace back in its box.

“As you say, dear. As you say.”

Harry thinks the expression on his mother’s face speaks anything but _As you say_. But then, exactly what else is she to think of him? He’s twenty-five years old, with no wife as of yet. Considering the question further, he realizes that he’s never shown outward evidence of an interest in women. For his part, he’s been so immersed in his studies and his vocation that he hasn’t felt the inclination to pursue a lady unless he can do so properly, and that done by giving her his best attentions first, and then his full devotion. Time has passed, and as far as his mother is concerned, there is no lady. Harry knows that he has a softer, more mild-mannered demeanor than most men his age; perhaps that’s why his mother would think – mistakenly so – that he might be more inclined to turn his attentions toward men. Yet, none of this has ever been spoken aloud. This conversation is his first indication that she has come to that particular conclusion.

Harry doesn’t feel it necessary to pursue the matter further, nor to protest, for it seems his mother has her mind made up. She doesn’t seem to be passing judgment on what she thinks is his inclination. Rather, she displays, as always, unconditional love for her son. But he can’t help but imagine, with some amusement, seeing the expression on his mother’s face, perhaps four or five years hence, when he introduces her to his beloved lady.

“You’re smiling,” his mother says.

“Am I? I wasn’t aware.”

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Harry?”

“No, Mother. Except, thank you. I’ll cherish this necklace, and I’ll do as you request – when I’m ready, as you said.”

“Are you certain there’s nothing else? You know you may always speak freely with me.”

“I do, Mother. As I always have.”

  


2.

There is a Netsilik lady on the ship. 

She had become silent for a time after her father’s death. No wonder, after all they had put her through: her father being wounded by Sergeant Bryant, she and her father being taken to Erebus, her father having passed away despite Harry’s best efforts, and then, later on, her having been kidnapped and brought back to HMS Terror and then escorted to Erebus.

Harry felt a responsibility toward the girl, due to his having been unable to save her father, so when Dr. Stanley told him to take food to Lady Silence during her first night on Erebus, he happily obliged – although hearing Dr. Stanley’s words, _I know you dream of such things_ , was a bit of a sting at the time.

Now, Harry smiles at the irony of Dr. Stanley’s remark. He dreams of so many things when it comes to Lady Silence.

When Harry took dinner to her, he introduced himself as Harry Goodsir. She does occasionally call him Goodsir – and only in private – but he longs for the day when she’ll call him Harry. When that happens, he hopes that she’ll share her true name with him. But for now, she is Lady Silence.

While she is being kept on Erebus, Harry is charged with encouraging her to talk about the creature that has already killed several men and threatens further harm. Captain Crozier thinks she may have knowledge to help them kill the creature. It’s the end goal, but Harry prefers to take things slowly by getting to know her first, no matter how long it may take. He wants her to feel comfortable enough with him so that when he does finally introduce the subject of the creature, she’ll easily offer any information she may have. Harry has started communication by creating a dictionary of Inuktitut, collecting words with Lady Silence’s help. It’s a gentle way to converse, and a good way to get to know her better. 

Many see her as a savage. A witch, in fact. Harry sees an exotic woman; mysterious, yes – but not evil. She’s beautiful, with dark, intense eyes, smooth, bronze skin, and lovely, pink lips. Over the weeks that Harry has been conversing with her, he feels they have developed a special bond. 

Harry is isolated, dealing with his medical and naturalist matters, and doesn’t have much time to socialize – but if he’s being honest with himself, he’s not sure anyone would want to socialize with him. He doesn’t think that he’s disliked; misunderstood might be the better term. The men on the ship are friendly enough to him, yet he never feels like he’s one of them.

Indeed, he thinks, Lady Silence must also feel out of place. Isolated. She is, technically, an outcast. Yes, the Captains have shown elements of hospitality, each in his own way, but Harry is the only one who voluntarily spends time with Lady Silence, and he’s the only one who visits her and shows interest in her general welfare on a daily basis. He’s happy to be a friend to her, and sad that no one else will consider trying.

When he allows his mind to go on flights of fancy, Harry imagines he and Lady Silence to be of similar circumstances and culture in which they could be more than friends. It’s total fantasy – and he realizes it – but it’s oh, so pleasant to succumb to fantasy from time to time, and especially when drifting off to sleep at night.

Oftentimes he thinks of Dr. MacDonald’s document about the man of the Inuk tribe who was brought back to Aberdeen, and then, in turn, of how wonderful it might be to take Lady Silence back to England. Harry likes to imagine her dressed in a beautiful corseted gown in a vibrant green to complement her skin tone, and with her onyx black hair loose and straight, trailing down her back. They might stroll the streets of London together, go dancing, and attend dinner parties, amongst so many other delightful activities. He blushes when he dares to think of the activities in which they could take part when she is not wearing a dress, nor corset, nor petticoats.

But why think any of this? It’s only a dream, and he knows he can’t expect her to leave her people and her culture in order to satisfy his selfish desires.

But dreams can come true, he reminds himself. Especially when you love someone.

  


3.

On a sleepless night, Harry goes into his personal effects and finds the gold-embossed red leather box that houses the necklace his mother gave to him. He opens it and smiles. The heart pendant is displayed on red velvet; an elegant setting for a necklace that, although having sentimental value, is more a lovely trinket than a fine piece of expensive jewelry. He traces the outline of the heart with his fingertips. It’s a caress; one he wishes he could trace along Lady Silence’s cheek and down to her chin before bestowing a first kiss on her lips. Patience; all things in good time…

Harry thinks back to his mother’s words on the day she gave him the necklace. Her directions were that when he was ready to give his own heart away, then he should also give away the heart necklace. He remembers the words: _….the one who enchants you like no other…_

It’s a lovely phrase, that – and it perfectly describes what Lady Silence means to him and how he feels about her. He’s thoroughly enchanted. A soft chuckle leaves his lips at the thought that perhaps she is a witch, after all; a beautiful, charming sorceress who has enchanted him and stolen his heart – and not against his will.

Each morning, when he goes to Lady Silence for his dictionary sessions, he sees trinkets and charms that have been left for her. Captain Fitzjames promises punishment for leaving things for Lady Silence, and he orders them cleared away every morning. But no one has been punished yet – and there are so many items to be seen every morning when Harry visits her. If others have been able to leave an item or two without discovery and punishment, then so can he.

He’ll take the chance. 

Harry wonders if a heart has the same romantic symbolism in her culture as it does in others. He has no idea; all he knows is that he wants to give it to her. Not directly, though, as words of love have never been spoken between them. He’ll be happy enough just to make her smile upon seeing the heart, and he hopes she’ll know that it comes from him. He’ll find a prominent location on the rung of the rope ladder nearest her, so that it might be the first thing she sees in the morning when he comes to visit. After their dictionary session, he’ll sneak it back into a pocket and save it for a more formal presentation at a later time. 

He walks as silently as Fagin through the ship, periodically checking over his shoulders, until he reaches the area where Lady Silence is being held. So far, he has been undetected - and he’ll do his best to remain so. Should he happen to see another shipmate, he’ll tell the truth: he was having trouble sleeping and feels the need to walk off any excess energy that may be making him restless. 

Nearing the corner room, he sees the ladder rungs where this morning’s items have been placed. It’s quite a collection: various necklaces, a small metal tin, small jars, a hair comb, and a carving of a mermaid, among other things. Those who think of Lady Silence as a witch must be leaving peace offerings in order to keep her from casting spells, either on them individually, or on Erebus itself. Harry thinks there may be others who have left gifts to express their wishes of satisfying their carnal desires with her. He has heard from Captain Crozier and others that native women have been known to couple with foreign men in exchange for trinkets. 

His intention is neither. He brings the heart to his lips and tenderly kisses it. “I love you, Lady Silence,” he whispers. It’s the first time he has said the words.

This necklace shouldn’t be hung on the end of a rung, he thinks, but more toward the center. It’s where one’s eyes would naturally go first when seeing the entire display. He looks about to make sure that no one is approaching. Keeping his breath in check, Harry slowly winds the chain around the center of the rung he has selected. He loops it several times, making sure to position the front of the pendant to face her doorway so that she may see the crystals catching the light like ice crystals on a frosted snow in Nunavut.

He takes a few steps back to admire his work, then carefully and quietly returns to his quarters. 

As he pulls his blanket up over his shoulders and closes his eyes for sleep, he looks forward to another night’s dreams of Lady Silence.

  


4.

It seems only minutes have passed, but Harry knows he must have slept at least four hours. He hopes his eyes won’t appear too red or puffy when he goes to see Lady Silence, as he always wants to look his best for her. 

After taking a quick breakfast on the lower deck, he goes down to visit her and finds that all the offerings he had seen hours ago are still there, including the heart necklace. He’ll take full advantage of the situation to make sure she sees it.

He knocks gently at the sliding door. “It’s me; Harry.” He figures the more he says _Harry_ to her, the sooner she’ll be likely to say his name in return. 

“Ulaakkut, Goodsir,” she says. 

Ah, so it won’t be _Harry_ today. But someday…

“Ulaakkut,” he says, slowly sliding the door open. “Good morning.”

Lady Silence touches her fingertips to the tops of her cheekbones and blinks her eyes a few times .

“Yes, I’m afraid I didn’t sleep much last night.” He wishes she hadn’t noticed his eyes. Eyes… Ah, now is the perfect time to put on his spectacles, as opposed to his usual practice of putting them on when he is ready to write in his book. This will give Lady Silence more time to look out the doorway and notice the necklace. 

He keeps his tired eyes on Lady Silence as he reaches for his spectacles. Once he has them in place, he blinks to adjust his vision. He sees a hint of a smile on her face; her gaze seems to be fixed on the crystals of the heart pendant. Splendid. He waits a few seconds for a response, but she doesn’t look back at him, nor does she speak.

Perhaps she hasn’t made the connection. Let her think about it; she may yet come to the proper conclusion. He walks into the small room and starts the dictionary session.

For the next twenty minutes, Harry acts all business as he gathers words for his Inuktitut dictionary. After they finish up with anatomy, he may be able to move on and encourage her to speak about the creature. He does his best to focus on the task at hand to keep from wondering if she had made any connection between the heart pendant and him. 

“And finally, foot. Feet.” He writes the Inuktitut word as provided by Lady Silence. “Yes. Bravo.” He hears conversation behind him. Is that Lieutenant Little’s voice? He turns to look. Yes, it’s him – but shouldn’t he be on the lower deck, involved in a command meeting? Why is he here?

“I have orders to pack her up,” Little says to Gregory. “She’s Terror’s problem now.”

Harry manages to keep himself from saying, “She is not a _problem,_ ” since Lady Silence is no such thing to him. He must find out what’s going on – and if she is to go back to Terror, then he must make sure he goes with her. 

The lieutenant confirms it. Harry immediately asks if he can go, too. Citing his dictionary project, he mentions that Lady Silence is finally talking. When asked if she has spoken of the creature yet, Harry stalls by saying not yet, but he thinks they’re close. What he doesn’t say is that he hasn’t yet approached the subject with her. Lieutenant Little agrees that Harry should come along, and he is told to pack.

And now, Harry knows he did it all wrong. He shouldn’t have sneaked through the decks last night to leave the necklace there. His plan was to surreptitiously remove it from the ladder himself when leaving today’s dictionary session – but circumstances have prevented, and now he must pack his things. On his way to his quarters, he decides that after he packs up, he’ll need to come back down to this deck and retrieve the necklace – if it’s not too late.

When he’s finished packing, he bolts out of his quarters to see Lady Silence and the Lieutenant waiting for him. “I – I… A moment… I need a moment, please.”

“Mr. Goodsir, we’re leaving.”

“No, no…. I - I left something behind,” he blurts out. “Uh… ” and he remembers that he _did_ leave something behind – and unintentionally. “My pencil!”

Little laughs. “A _pencil_ , Mr. Goodsir?”

“Yes. Exactly. A pencil. I promise I’ll be but a moment.” He dashes away before the Lieutenant can protest.

Harry moves briskly through the ship, hoping the necklace will still be there, but already he’s thinking about what story he’ll need to fabricate in the future for his mother if it isn’t.

He approaches the room. Fifty feet away, forty, then thirty…

Twenty feet away… he slows down, unbelieving…

At ten feet away, he stops cold.

The ladder rungs are bare. Everything has been cleared away.

Everything. 

Harry’s heart plummets. A Romantic; that’s what he wanted to be, and it was all for naught. Lady Silence had shown no signs of understanding that the necklace could have been placed there by him. Now he’ll never have the chance to give it to her directly. He has failed himself and failed Lady Silence. Worst of all, he has failed to properly honour his mother’s wishes.

A new hope strikes him. Perhaps today’s items have been temporarily deposited in the small room where he and Lady Silence had been conversing. 

He goes into the room to find, sadly, that they have not. In defeat, he lowers his head, his gaze falling to the floor. 

A wry chuckle leaves his lips. At least his pencil is still there.

  


5.

Harry and Lady Silence are summoned to Captain Crozier’s quarters, where it is soon discerned that Harry’s self-indulgent dictionary sessions have been of no help as far as the Captain is concerned. 

Harry learns from watching and listening to Captain Crozier and Mr. Blanky interact with Lady Silence that there could be a Tuunbaq – a spirit animal – which is hunting the ships. She also says that she hasn’t tried to speak with it. But why should she, Goodsir wonders. How does this gentle enchantress have any connection to a spirit animal? Captain Crozier aggressively questions her, asking how they can kill it. When he gets no response, he determines that she’s being uncooperative, and makes the pronouncement that she’s to be denied protection on either ship. Harry protests, along with Lieutenant Little and Mr. Blanky. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Lady Silence speaks – and she says more than he has heard her say in the entire month he’s been visiting her. She’s all anger and derision – and although Harry doesn’t understand most of what she’s saying, he knows it can’t be good. 

When she’s finished spewing her words, there is an awkward pause.

Blanky assists, saying to the captain, “She asked you _Why do you want to die_.”

Later that same day, Lady Silence escapes the ship. Harry feels it’s his own fault; he must not have done enough to make her feel safe on HMS Terror. He curses himself for not being with her when the creature was pursuing Blanky on the upper deck. Had he been with her, he would have protected her as best he could. Instead, he was thinking only of himself; not behaviour befitting someone who would fancy himself a Romantic. Now, because of him, she is gone.

As the weeks go by, Harry keeps hoping his necklace will turn up somewhere on Erebus. Should he ever see Lady Silence again – however unlikely the prospect may seem – he’d find an opportunity to present it to her.

He dares not ask Captain Fitzjames, nor any of the Lieutenants, about what has happened to the items left behind for Lady Silence, as he doesn’t wish to arouse undue suspicion that he might have placed something for her of his own volition. Further, throughout his life he’s been told that his facial expressions can often be easy to read. He knows he’s not good at keeping a stone face, nor is he practiced at feigning a passing interest in a subject. 

He wonders if the offerings are collected and stored somewhere on the ship; the Captain’s quarters, perhaps. Of course not, because Captain Fitzjames likely wants nothing to do with them. Are they hidden away in a Lieutenant’s quarters? Again, how can he find out without seeming suspect? Surely the items can’t have been carried off the ship to be buried in the ice. Unless… the fire hole? No, it wouldn’t be worth risking an encounter with the creature, this Tuunbaq, for the sole purpose of depositing trinkets and charms down a fire hole. Captain Fitzjames would never allow it.

Harry decides he’ll keep his ears and eyes open for any hints as to the whereabouts of the items left for Lady Silence during her stay on Erebus. He mustn’t dwell on the matter, though, as he has his duties to perform on the ship. Strictest self-discipline is required. It will do no good to anyone if he should find himself daydreaming about Lady Silence during an important surgery. 

He has another important matter to consider: that of the Goldner tins. As a scientist, he’s using his practical judgment to conduct an experiment as to the effects of the contents of these tins on Jacko’s tiny body. Sad as it is for Harry to witness the deterioration of the simian, it’s a necessary experiment to perform in order to prove his theory that the tins are causing lead poisoning in the men.

He arrives at a compromise: In his waking hours, he must be vigilant in his medical and scientific duties. In the later hours of the day, alone with his thoughts, he’ll allow himself to think of Lady Silence. Thankfully, he may also dream of her while asleep. Sleep has become a welcome respite in these days of being stuck in the ice.

At best, Harry thinks he may see Lady Silence soon after first sunrise. She knows how to find him, after all.

And at worst…

Harry refuses to think the worst.

6.

Harry would have never dreamed that the first time he’d touch Lady Silence would be under such circumstances. She has returned, staggering into the Carnivale tent, blood gushing from her mouth. He runs to her, catches her against his body, and helps her down to a kneeling position. Supporting her head with both hands, he gets a good look inside her bloodied mouth; a mouth that no longer has a tongue.

Just like her father…

How could it have happened? And how did it happen to her father? Punishment from her people? Something else? Harry has so many questions, but he knows he’ll never get spoken answers. 

To compound the horror, Dr. Stanley sets himself on fire, and the tent is burning. Amidst shouting, crowding, and confusion, Harry’s able to get Lady Silence out of the tent and to the ice. He marvels that she hasn’t fainted away from loss of blood or from shock. For now, he can only continue to hold her close and hope that this fiery Hell passes mercifully soon so he may tend to her wound.

The fire dies away – as do so many men. Harry sends Lady Silence to Terror and informs Captain Crozier that he should be going, as well. He goes temporarily numb when he learns that Doctors MacDonald and Peddie have both succumbed, leaving him as the only doctor remaining on the Expedition.

Harry chooses to hurry back to Terror. There are many patients to whom he needs to attend, but he makes it a point to take care of Lady Silence first. Once he’s confident that her condition is stable, she is taken down to a small room in the orlop deck. He orders Mr. Bridgens to take a bowl of soup to her. Whether or not she’ll be able to eat is another thing, but he can’t bear the idea of sending her down to that dark place to be all alone and without sustenance.

He’ll be sure to see her tomorrow morning, which seems so far away – but it’s as it must be. He feels a pang of guilt that he chose Lady Silence as his first patient upon his return to Terror, but mercifully the guilt passes quickly.

Now he must set to work on the injured men. 

  


The following morning, Harry goes to check on his patient. He taps lightly on the door. “Ulaakkut, Lady Silence.” He slides the door open to see her kneeling on the floor with the bowl of soup nearby.

Harry offers a tiny smile. “Qanuipit?” As soon as he asks _How are You?_ he instantly regrets it. She can’t possibly answer. He’ll need to ask _yes_ or _no_ questions. “I’m sorry, I – I… ”

Lady Silence manages a close-mouthed smile and a slow nod.

“So, you’re well? Good. Good.” He points to the bowl, then mimes holding a bowl and drinking from it. “Did you eat? Nirijutit?”

She nods.

“Excellent.” Somehow, she was able to swallow, if only a small amount. His face tightens as he asks the next question because he already knows its answer. Still, he must ask if she’s feeling pain. “Anniaat?”

Lady Silence nods slowly, losing her former smile.

Harry sighs. “I’ll bring something later to help with that,” he says. He’ll start with laudanum. Not that she’ll accept it, but he’ll try to persuade her to do so.

He slowly gets down on his knees and faces her. “May I?” He points to his own mouth. “Qaniq?” He opens his own mouth slightly, then gestures to her.

Lady Silence nods her assent.

Harry reaches forward tentatively with both hands. He gently sets his left hand behind Lady Silence’s head to steady himself, much as he had after she fell to her knees in the Carnivale tent. He sets his right hand against her chin, with thumb on one cheek, and fingers on the other. 

Lady Silence places her hand on his and cooperatively opens her mouth. 

Her touch sends a pleasurable shiver down his spine, even as it helps to calm him in the moment. He peers inside her mouth, gently guiding her head with his hands from side to side, then up and down, for various viewing angles. 

Harry smiles. “Good,” he says. “You’ll be healing well in no time.” It’s a lie: _no time_ is equal to a bare minimum of two weeks – and more likely, two months or longer. Lady Silence closes her mouth and lowers her hand to her lap. The examination is over, yet Harry can’t seem to easily bring his hand away from her cheeks and chin. He dares to let his hand linger for a several seconds before slowly trailing his fingers gently along her jawline in a caress. 

No. This is neither gentlemanly nor professional behaviour; she’s vulnerable, and in pain. He quickly takes both hands away and shakes his head. “Forgive me. I - I’m sorry… Mamianaq…”

Lady Silence nods and gently sets her hand on his arm. He understands this to mean that he did nothing wrong.

Harry slowly rises to his feet. “I’ll come back soon.” He turns to go, then changes his mind, turning back to face her. “I know the circumstances are less than ideal… but I’m happy to see you again. I’ve missed you so – and I promise I’ll take much better care of you this time. In fact, I hope I’ll be able to care of you for a very long time.” He knows that Lady Silence doesn’t understand his words, but it feels good to say them aloud for himself. 

He leaves the room and slides the door shut, then leans back against it with a sigh. If only he had the heart necklace now; this would have been the perfect time to present it to her as a token of his affection. But the fact is that he _doesn’t_ have it – and will likely never see it again – because he was so foolish weeks ago. 

He takes a deep breath to refocus, then heads off to the sick bay for another day’s work. 

  


7.

Harry sleeps alone in Terror Camp. Captains Crozier and Fitzjames made the logical decision together: if he were to be in a tent with other men and someone should require his services in the middle of the night, others would be robbed of necessary sleep.

Every night, before Harry finally succumbs to sleep, he lies alone and awake, in worry. So many men are showing signs of scurvy and possible lead poisoning. He thinks of Mr. Collins’ struggles and Mr. Morfin’s pain. He also thinks of Lady Silence. He wishes he could spend more time with her, apart from their taking meals of ship’s biscuits together, but he hasn’t figured out yet how he can make it happen. It would be calming, in the midst of so much stress, to spend more time alone with her in quiet, simply sharing smiles. To have her lying next to him at night would be a comfort, and he thinks it would help him through his occasional sleepless nights.

As it has ever been since Harry’s first days on Erebus, he doesn’t feel he fits in with the other men, nor do they seem to relate well to him. He’s had pleasant enough conversations with Captain Crozier and Mr. Bridgens, but he wouldn’t consider them to be friends. Not really. It seems that no one naturally gravitates toward him unless there is a need for medical help. He’s resigned to the fact that everyone thinks of him only as Dr. Goodsir; they don’t seem to see Harry, the _man_. The feeling has been growing steadily worse since he began shouldering the work of what should have been four doctors. Bless Mr. Bridgens; he is a welcome help, and a lovely man – but he is no doctor.

Tonight, sleep eludes Harry again. Terror Camp may be quiet, but the noise of Harry’s thoughts rattle in his head: He wants to be with Lady Silence more often than he is currently able… He’s sad to be thought of as only a doctor… Mr. Collins… Mr. Morfin… wine of coca may help… and what other tonic may be of help next, if wine of coca doesn’t alleviate his pain?... Captain Crozier has denied his request that hunting parties commence… _Denied!_ … But hunting parties _need_ to commence, the men can no longer eat from these tins… A shared burden?... He doesn’t like the idea of sharing a burden; it’s like _lying_ to the men… He’s hungry because he left the food line after Crozier denied his request… And now he’s been hoarding ship’s biscuits, which he shares with Lady Silence… Has anyone noticed this?… He’ll try again with Captain Crozier tomorrow… The captain _must_ be made to understand this problem from a doctor’s point of view…

Harry grows increasingly upset by the sound of his own voice in his head. But there’s no one else he can talk to at this late hour…

Except for one.

He rises to his feet, opens a wooden box, and lifts several folds of fabric away to reveal a small wooden container, cylindrical in shape. Removing the lid, he discovers two large pieces of broken glass; the jar inside must have broken sometime during the sledge party journey. Harry sets the broken pieces aside, reaches carefully into the jar, takes out Jacko’s lifeless body, and gently lowers her onto the table. Jacko’s eyes are clouded; she had gone blind during the experiment that ultimately killed her. He looks into her unseeing eyes and speaks. “I am trying.” 

As he opens his mouth to tell her more, he hears a man wailing in pain. Mr. Collins? No… it sounds more like it could be Mr. Morfin…

Harry quickly puts Jacko’s body back into the box, closes the lid, grabs his lantern, and runs out of his tent directly to Morfin, who is lying on the ground.

Morfin begs Harry to shoot him. But Morfin should have come to the sick bay tent for an additional remedy; the wine of coca that they had discussed when they abandoned the ships. Why didn’t he? Harry’s heart chills at the realization that _he_ is the one responsible for this; he should have insisted that Morfin take the tonic before now. 

Assisted by Mr. Bridgens, Harry helps Morfin up to his feet. Confusion, tension, many words spoken, Morfin grabs a gun, guns are raised and then commanded to be lowered, Goodsir hears himself negotiating, promising wine of coca as a tonic… and then, a shot is fired.

Morfin is dead.

In his role as doctor, Harry has seen natural death many times. As a man, he’s seen a man killed by the creature, and another man willingly kill himself – but this is the first time he’s seen a man killed by a gunshot, and at such close range. A life gone in an instant; a life that Harry could have – and _should_ have – saved.

He sinks to his knees beside Morfin’s body. If only he could make this all go away. If only he could go back in time, just a few hours, a few minutes, he could have prevented this – and Morfin would still be alive. 

Tom Hartnell squats down, and reaches out, touching him. It may have been to offer comfort, or it may have been out of necessity, since the Captain has told the men to take Morfin’s body away; Harry isn’t sure which. But it shakes him back to the present, and now he’s up on his feet again. He hears Captain Crozier’s voice; the voice is telling everyone to go back to their tents and get some sleep. 

Harry doesn’t know how he could possibly sleep after what has just happened. But what is sleep but first closing your eyes, and then imitating sleep? He must try; it will do no good to stay out here all night. Morfin is dead, and nothing will change that fact. 

On shaky legs, Harry makes his way to his tent. At the instant he pushes the flap aside, his body begins to quake. Steadying himself with one hand on his chair, he removes his boots. His heart is racing, his breathing is shallow. He lies down and pulls his blanket across his body, but it does no good; he’s shivering more from tremors than from the cold. Quick ragged breaths morph into spasmodic vocalizations; half-gasps, half-sobs. 

He hears the tent flap open and manages to look up; Lady Silence has entered his tent. He wants to say something to her, but he can’t, what with his body and voice shaking out of his control. She’s walking past him, behind him, and lying down next to him. He feels the gentle touch of her hand against his upper arm. The warmth of her body at his back soothes and calms him. His breath gradually slows down, and his voice goes quiet. No words need be spoken. To be lying next to her, quiet and calm, is enough – and everything. 

He closes his eyes and imitates sleep. 

  


8.

Harry wakes up, which he realizes means that he slept – and better than he has in weeks. He blinks his eyes several times, still in a fog, and looks around for Lady Silence.

She is not there.

Of course not; it wouldn’t be wise for her to emerge from his tent in the morning and risk being seen by others. He wonders when she slipped away; it could have been immediately after he fell asleep, or hours later. Whenever it happened, she did the right thing. If anyone had seen her, there would be talk throughout the camp, and no one would ever believe that all they did was to lie next to each other in sleep last night.

He rolls onto his back, makes a quick decision to find Lady Silence, throws his blanket off, and leaves his tent.

Harry walks through the camp, searching for her. There is a food line, but Lady Silence isn’t there. After checking all pathways, and then the entire periphery of the camp, Harry determines that she will likely be in the tent which has been graciously provided for her, courtesy of the captains. He’s grateful every day that they no longer perceive her to be a threat; even Captain Fitzjames had finally softened his position on this. 

When the men abandoned the ships, Lady Silence walked along with them and never showed a desire to leave. She is part of their party now. Some of the marines and mates are quite vocal in their scorn; Harry thinks they may be resentful because she never put in the physical labor of pulling a sledge, and so shouldn’t have earned the right to camp with them. But she’s a _lady_ , and a lady should never be expected to pull a heavy sledge. Chances are they would have resented her just as much if she _had_ pulled with them. Harry is convinced that the circumstances of her presence would make no difference to those men. Some of the others have grown to accept her presence without concern, and there are those who tolerate her, at best. 

And then, there’s Mr. Hickey. Harry has noticed that Mr. Hickey routinely looks at Lady Silence with disdain – even as he also seems to be studying her – but he has tended to look at everyone that same way since the day they all started walking.

Having walked the entire periphery in search of Lady Silence, Harry has ended up back at his own tent. Now he’ll need to go to the opposite corner to see her. He chuckles as he sets off, wondering if camp had been purposely set up in such a way that he and Lady Silence would be so far away from each other. No, a ridiculous notion, he thinks… unless some of the marines had any say in it…

As he approaches her tent, he encounters Sergeant Tozer walking along the path. 

Tozer is clearly unable to suppress a wry smirk. “Going to see Lady Silence?”

“Yes, I’ll be going into her tent to talk with her.” 

Tozer laughs. “That won’t be much of a conversation, now, will it?

“We communicate sufficiently, Sergeant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on her to see how her wound is healing. I think she may still be in pain.”

“Still? After all this time?”

Harry sighs heavily. This is an interruption he didn’t want. “Sergeant Tozer, have you ever bitten your tongue? Accidentally? While eating?”

“Yeah,” Tozer says with a shrug. “Who hasn’t?”

“And it was painful, yes? For days… depending on how hard you may have bitten it?”

“Yeah.”

“Now, imagine biting your own tongue. Very hard. So hard that you bit off a piece of it, in fact.”

“Come, now. We know it didn’t happen like that with her.”

“We don’t know _how_ it happened. But back to you, Sergeant. Imagine that you’ve bitten off your _entire_ _tongue_. Would it be painful, do you think?” Tozer shudders and squeezes his eyes shut. Harry presses further, while keeping his impulse to laugh under control. “Biting the side is painful enough – but the pain of biting through your _entire tongue_ must be at least fifty times more painful than that. Maybe a hundred. Or more. No tongue. Blood. Plenty of blood. Plenty of pain, yes?”

Tozer’s brows knit together; he’s rolling his own tongue inside his mouth, prodding it firmly against the inside of one cheek, then the other, then running it along the front of his teeth, behind grimacing lips. 

“As a doctor, I know it can take months for such a wound to heal. Oh… And then, while healing, imagine the _itching_ …”

“Carry on, Dr. Goodsir,” Tozer says, walking swiftly past him.

“Thank you, I believe I shall,” Harry says happily to himself, since there's no one nearby to hear him.

  


9.

Harry gently rustles the flap of Lady Silence’s tent. “Ulaakkut; It’s me; Goodsir.” 

Lady Silence pulls the flap aside and smiles.

“Good morning. May I come in?”

She steps to one side, allowing Harry into her tent.

Once he’s inside, they face each other, their eyes meeting, then one glancing away and back, the other looking away, then glancing back. And smiles; there are always smiles.

Finally, Harry remembers to breathe. “Did you sleep well?”

He is rewarded with a nod.

“Good. I did, as well. I didn’t think I would, after what happened. But I did, and it was entirely due to your kindness. But… I’m sorry… _Mamianaq_. I wish you didn’t have to see me like that… like… like I was. I was in such a state… and I couldn’t find words to say to you at the time…”

Lady Silence brings one hand up, setting fingertips to her closed lips. She holds her other hand up, palm facing Harry, and shakes her head.

A self-conscious chuckle. “Yes, I do tend to ramble on occasionally.” As so often happens when he’s with Lady Silence, Harry has found himself overthinking and overtalking. He pauses for a moment to take some calming breaths.

Lady Silence nods.

“What I’ve really come here to say is… Thank you. Nakurmiik. Thank you for coming to my tent – and for being with me. _Nakurmiik,_ Lady Silence.”

Their gazes lock. He gets lost in her dark, shimmering eyes; eyes that he wouldn’t mind looking into every morning of every day for the rest of his life. 

Harry sighs. “Lady Silence,” he says wistfully. “It’s what we all call you – but how I wish I knew your real name.” He points to himself, saying, “Harry Goodsir,” and nods. “Lady Silence,” he says, pointing to her and shaking his head. He drops his hand to his side. “I know that’s not _your_ name.”

Lady Silence looks downward, seemingly in thought.

“What is it?”

She brings her gaze back to his and smiles. Raising both hands, she mimes writing, the palm of one hand representing a book, and a finger of the other hand representing a pencil.

Harry hasn’t seen this gesture from her since their dictionary sessions of long ago. “The dictionary? But we can’t… I - I mean, _you_ can’t…”

Lady Silence taps her chest several times, then mimes writing quickly and more deliberately, her gaze searing his.

“Oh!” He points to her and copies her miming. “ _You_ want to write! The dictionary’s in my tent. Come!” He holds the tent flap open for her, gentleman that he is, and gestures for her to exit first.

They rush along together, side by side, Harry with one arm around her shoulders to guide her. Let anyone think what they will to see them walking together like this; he doesn’t care, and it doesn’t matter, because he hasn’t felt this happy and energetic in months. 

They hurry towards the opposite end of Terror Camp. Along the way, they meet men who totally ignore them, men who give passing glances, and Mr. Hickey, who smirks and rolls his gaze up to the sky. With three tents to go, they nearly collide with someone who has rounded a corner. That someone is Tom Hartnell. 

“Good morning, Doctor Goodsir.” Hartnell removes his cap. “Lady Silence,” he says, nodding to acknowledge her. He’s smiling at both of them, and Harry knows it’s entirely genuine; Hartnell is the only man here who shows demonstrable joy for his relationship with Lady Silence. Quite a turnaround, considering he was one of the men who kidnapped her and brought her back to Terror long ago, having made the unfortunate mistake of allowing himself to fall under the influence of Mr. Hickey. Harry has always known Hartnell to be a good boy at heart, and it shines through in this moment.

“Good morning, Mr. Hartnell. Clumsy of me; I should have paid better attention.” 

“I could well say the same of me. Uh… Dr. Goodsir, did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes, we slept very well, thank you.” Harry sees Hartnell’s smile widening, which makes him realize what he just said out loud. “I mean, _I_ slept well, thank you. And I was just visiting Lady Silence and learned that she also slept well. So… yes… we both slept very well.”

“Good. I was concerned because you seemed particularly upset about what happened last night.”

“We were all upset.”

“Yes.” Hartnell’s facial expression goes dark. “It was a horrible thing to see, a man shot by a shipmate. I understand why Sergeant Tozer did it – and I don’t blame him for it. But I hope I never see anything like that again, God willing.”

Harry senses there may something deeper in Hartnell’s demeanor. “Mr. Hartnell… How did you fare last night, after what happened? Did you sleep?”

“Barely. Not at all, if I’m being honest.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. If you continue to have trouble, please don’t hesitate to come see me. I can give you something to help you sleep.” 

“Thank you.”

Harry wants more than _Thank you_. He failed Morfin because he wasn’t vigilant enough. He’ll do more for Collins. Although Hartnell has lost only one night’s sleep, it could portend to future troubles, and Harry must do his best to prevent them. He cannot lose another man under his watch. “Come to see me if you need anything at all, do you understand?”

“I do.”

“You’ll come to my tent – and if I’m asleep, you’ll wake me.”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“You _must_ wake me _,_ no matter the hour. Please, Hartnell, will you promise me that?”

“I promise. Thank you, Doctor.” He gestures with his hat toward the officers’ tents. “I’ve been called to speak with Captain Crozier, and then I’ll be off to see to Morfin’s burial.”

“Of course, sorry to keep you. I’ll say a prayer.” For Morfin – and also for Hartnell. Harry will be sure to check on him tonight.

Hartnell, his smile restored, nods politely to Lady Silence and continues on his way.

Harry and Lady Silence resume their walk. At the next tent, Mr. Des Voeux appears and walks directly into their path. 

Oh, God… Why him… Why now…

“Ah, the happy couple,” Des Voeux says through a sneer.

“Mr. Des Voeux, if you’ll please give way? Lady Silence needs medical attention.”

“Having pain during her Lady Time?”

Harry sighs. “No.”

“Is she missing her Lady Time, then? How many months?”

_“What?”_

Des Voeux raises his eyebrows and drills his gaze into Harry’s. “Is there a baby Eski in her future?”

“Good Lord, no! _It’s her tongue!_ She’s in pain!” Harry boldly steers her to the side, past Des Voeux, and maneuvers her directly into his tent.

“He makes me so angry sometimes,” Harry says, once inside. 

Lady Silence pats his shoulder, then mimes writing in a book.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. Let’s forget about him.” He rummages about, moving photographic paraphernalia and papers aside, sorting books, until he finds his dictionary. He holds it up in victory. “Here it is! Oh… and you’ll need a pencil…” He finds one resting behind a book. “Here we are.” He opens his dictionary and flips through the pages. “Here’s a blank page for you,” he says, handing her the book and pencil. 

Lady Silence draws three symbols. She sets the pencil down on the table and turns the book around to show him.

Harry sees a combination of straight-and-curved-line shapes. “This is your name?” he asks, pointing to her.

She nods.

“It looks beautiful. But I don’t know how to say it.”

She points to the first symbol. 

“Yes? What is it?”

She touches her ear.

“Ear?”

Lady Silence sighs loudly and shakes her head. She touches her ear, and then taps the dictionary several times. 

“Oh, you mean I should look it up? Of course! But I’ll need to put on my spectacles.” He hurriedly does so, then turns multiple pages, looking for the section of his dictionary concerning external anatomy. “Ear… Ear… Let me find it… Ah, here it is… Ear. _Siun.”_ He checks her facial expression for further clues. “Siun?”

She shakes her head, then gestures to convey that he should repeat the word.

“Si –“

She holds up her hand to stop him.

“Si? Is it Si?”

Lady Silence nods, then she touches her arm.

“Arm.” He scans the pages. “Arm… Arm…. Arm… _Taleq!"_ A small laugh escapes him. This is the most enjoyable game he’s played in years. “Taleq… Ta?”

Lady Silence, her eyes sparkling, shakes her head.

“Not Ta.” He tries again and again, responding to Lady Silence’s cues: the nodding or shaking of her head, in combination with various hand gestures. “Tal? No, not Tal? Then, is it Leq? _Leq?_ No? Hmm… Not Ta, not Tal, and not leq…. “ It must be a consonant sound, he thinks. He tests out the sounds of the consonants with teeth, tongue, and palate, looking for her to nod when he says the correct one. _“T? Q? L?”_

Lady Silence nods quickly and smiles.

“Si and l!” Harry quickly finds the page where she had written her name. He points to the first two symbols. “Si. L.” One more symbol to go. “And this?” he asks, pointing to it.

Lady Silence takes the book from him and flips through multiple pages. She stops and turns the book so that her chosen page faces him. It’s a drawing she had done herself when they were in sessions concerning the land, the ice, and animals native to Nunavut.

“Yes, the caribou!” Harry consults the page to find his notation next to the drawing. “ _Tuttu_. So, it is Tu? No? Tut? T?”

She shakes her head and then points to the animal’s antlers.

“Ah, so it’s…najjuk. Na –“

He is interrupted by Lady Silence, who smiles and holds up her hand to stop him.

“Na?”

She nods.

“Na! Good, good! May I?” He gently takes the dictionary from her hands and finds the page of symbols. “Si… li… na.” He gazes into her eyes. Silina?”

A slight shake of her head.

“No? Let me try again… Silina? Sili –“

Lady Silence wipes one flattened palm quickly across the other as he forms the consonant l with his tongue.

“I - I don’t understand. Silina….?”

He sees the speedy flattened palm gesture again as he articulates the l – and glides into the n.

“Silna… Silna? Is it Silna?”

A nod.

He laughs in triumph. “Silna!”

Another nod, coupled with a rosy-cheeked smile.

Harry snatches up the pencil from the table and writes her name in Roman letters, next to her symbols “This is _Silna_ in English, but I think it looks more beautiful in Inuktitut.” He sighs. “Silna.” He loves to say her name, and he intends to keep it entirely to himself. He won’t tell anyone: not Captain Crozier, nor Captain Fitzjames, nor Mr. Blanky. Not even Tom Hartnell.

_Silna_ belongs only to him. 

She gently takes the book and pencil from Harry. On the same page, she draws more symbols, then turns the book so he may see them. She touches the page, next to where she has written the newest symbols, then points to him and smiles.

“Ah… Goodsir,” he says.

She slowly shakes her head.

His breath hitches in his throat as he thinks it through – and it doesn’t take long. He nods, but it’s a question: “Harry?”

Silna’s smile has never been more beautiful to him than it is now. She nods.

To have seen her write his name in her own language is no less precious to him than if she had been able to say his name out loud. “Nakurmiik, Silna,” he says. He gently takes the pencil from her and writes his name, in English, next to the corresponding symbols. He shows it to her. “Harry.” 

He removes his spectacles and puts them on the table, along with the dictionary and pencil, his eyes always on her. “Silna and Harry. I do like the way our names sound together. One next to the other… Silna and Harry.”

Silna slowly raises her hand and places it on her own chest. Next, she’s reaching towards him. In reflex, Harry backs up a step. He’s not afraid, because she’s smiling, but he wants to give her an out if she should want to change course about whatever she has in mind – while dearly hoping that she won’t. 

With a gentle shimmer in her eyes, Silna steps forward to meet him and places her palm firmly against his chest. Harry’s heart is pounding fast and hard, and he’s certain she must feel it. But he won’t take her hand. Nor will he kiss her. No, not yet. It might be days, weeks, or months before it happens, but he won’t rush her into anything. When they were working on the dictionary, he had learned to let her do things in her time. He’ll stay true to her nature and let her take the lead – when she’s ready. 

She takes her hand away and touches it to her own chest again. With a new smile and a look of mischief in her eyes, she reaches into her coat’s hood with both hands, her fingers deftly working.

He remembers ordering her father’s charms to be put back into his hood before the burial, and wonders if Silna may have a special charm of her own to show him.

She turns her back on him while still working inside the hood. Finally she stops and turns around, showing him a necklace with a dangling heart pendant, its chain wrapped around her fingers. 

Harry feels his heart could burst. “How?” She must have managed to take it from the ladder’s rung after he left to pack for their trip to HMS Terror. “And you’ve been carrying it with you all this time…”

Silna twirls the necklace between her fingers and smiles.

“My mother… _Anaana_ gave it to me,” Harry says, gesturing to one side and then to himself, folding both hands across his chest. “And I gave it to you.” He opens his hands and reaches both arms forward. He repeats, patting his chest, saying, “Anaana… Harry” – and pointing to her, “Silna.”

Silna nods.

“You knew,” Harry says. “You knew all along that it was from me.” His heart is so full that he can’t contain his thoughts; they manifest as a flurry of spoken words. “Silna, come with me to England. I’ll take good care you, and we’ll be very happy together. You’ll meet good people. Wonderful people, like my mother, for instance, who gave me the necklace. _Your_ necklace. You’ll love England, Silna, it’s beautiful…“

Silna is no longer smiling.

He doesn’t want to see her shake her head _No,_ so he keeps talking. “It’s alright, you don’t need to decide immediately. It doesn’t have to be today, or tomorrow. Think about it, Silna. You have plenty of time to think about it. And we’ll both have time to plan.”

Silna offers a tiny smile that doesn’t reassure Harry quite enough – but at least she didn’t shake her head. 

It’s a good sign. 

He knows he’ll be able to convince her. He has plenty of time. 

  


10.

Harry’s instincts tell him that something is terribly wrong about what he sees.

Captain Fitzjames is trudging from Terror Camp and towards their party that had trekked to the location of the murders of Lieutenant Irving, Mr. Farr, and five Netsilik people. The man is looking more serious than usual. Worried, in fact. He must be concerned about his physical condition, Harry thinks. The captain has seemed weary and short of breath for some time. He’s lost the color in his cheeks and the spark in his eyes, yet he hasn’t visited the sick bay to ask for medical help. But Fitzjames is a proud man; perhaps he’s too vain to ask. Harry decides he’ll take charge in the matter by making a special visit to the captain tonight. Then he’ll check on Hartnell. 

What Harry can’t figure is why Captain Fitzjames is carrying a bag. He can’t be going anywhere by himself in his weakened state; perhaps he and Captain Crozier had planned another excursion together? 

“Goodsir,” Fitzjames says, locking eyes with him while walking by. 

The way the captain says his name is enough to make Harry’s stomach tighten in trepidation. He turns and follows Fitzjames. Something is definitely off…

In a breathless shadow of a voice, Fitzjames breaks the news to Captain Crozier: the armoury has been opened, but not under his order. Regardless, numerous men are now armed. The men at Terror Camp fear a retaliatory attack may be imminent by Netsilik who would avenge the murders of their own. Under these conditions, it would be dangerous for Lady Silence to return to camp.

Captain Fitzjames holds the bag he had been carrying towards Silna. “Your things,” he says. His voice sounds cold; he’s giving her an order, much as he would to a shipman. Silna takes the bag and loops the ropes over her shoulder.

No. This isn’t happening. _This cannot be happening..._

One by one, the last of the men leave. Fitzjames, Blanky, Jopson, and finally, Captain Crozer, who tells her, in Inuktitut, to go to her people and be safe. He runs off toward Terror Camp.

Leaving only Harry, Silna, and the distance beyond.

He had no time to prepare for this. It happened so quickly, he had no control over the situation, and there’s nothing he can do about it. The decision has been made for him. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

_No_ … This was _never_ supposed to happen. 

Silna was supposed to go back to England with him. They were supposed to be together for a lifetime, happy, in each other’s company. He had been dreaming it since the dictionary days on Erebus. After learning her name only hours ago, he began revising the dream and planning how he would convince her to come to England with him to make it a reality; the thoughts occupying his mind even as they journeyed to and from the scene of carnage carried out by Lieutenant Hodgson, Mr. Armitage, and Mr. Pocock. 

Harry knows that Silna is well-accustomed to walking and wandering, but it’s a sudden knife to his heart that she seems to accept this situation so easily, nodding to him and then turning away matter-of-factly to start her journey. 

She must be hurting inside, just as much as he is, Harry thinks. She must be trying to make things easier for both of them by making a quick departure. But it won’t work. Not for Harry. They have a bond; he can’t let her go so easily.

He runs after her, telling her to wait – and in the next instant, his more practical self tells her to go and be safe. He knows, painful as it is for him, that it’s the best course for _her._

And he changes his mind again. He says he’ll talk to the men and make it safe for her – but as he says the words, he knows he wouldn’t be able to do it. There are too many in camp that wouldn’t think twice about killing her, now that they have, if only in their minds, justifiable reason to do so. 

In desperation, he bargains, telling her that he wishes she could come to England and see for herself that people there are good –

Silna sets her hand gently against his chest and pats a few times. For comfort, Harry thinks – but he also knows she’s doing it to stop him from rambling on. She knows him so well… 

They’ll find each other again when this diversion has passed, and calm is restored. Camp will be taken down soon, and those who are able will resume hauling sledges. If they have to put the sick in the sledges, they will – and Harry will continue to care for them as best he can. He’s never been good at hauling sledges, but he’s resolved to be better; he’ll haul as never before, for as long as he needs, every single day if he must, if there’s any chance that he may see Silna again.

He thinks all of it – but he doesn’t truly believe it. His deeper instincts tell him this is final. This is his dream destroyed.

He has to let her go; it’s the right thing to do. 

Harry regrets that in all the time he’s known Silna, he never learned to say _I love you_ in Inuktitut. But it doesn’t seem proper to say _I love you_ – nor anything – in English. Instead, he wants to show respect by speaking her language. He chooses to say, in parting, the one word in Inuktitut that can best convey what he’s feeling for her, for himself, and their shared circumstance.

He leans into her, setting his hands on her arms. “Mamianaq,” he says, searching her eyes for signs of forgiveness. “ _Mamianaq_.” 

He’s sorry. He’s sorry for every horrible thing she’s suffered since meeting the men of Erebus and Terror. He’s sorry that she’s been forced into this situation not of her own doing. He’s sorry for the way Captain Fitzjames just treated her. He’s sorry that he can’t change any of this. He’s sorry that Silna will never be able to see England, sorry that he’ll never be able to introduce Silna to his mother, never have the chance to kiss her, never stroll the streets of London with her…

And he’s sorry… so terribly sorry…

Sorry, in this moment, to be English.

He drops his arms to his sides, releasing her, and looks to the ground, unable to watch her walk away. Stones shift underfoot as she walks, the sounds growing more faint, distant, until there is nothing to hear but silence.

Finally, he looks up. Silna is part of the fog. He wonders if perhaps she may have stopped and turned around. They might still be facing each other from a distance, searching but not seeing…

He waits for… nothing. 

Slowly, he turns and forces himself to plod back to camp for whatever may be next.

  


As Harry nears the sick bay, he sees Captain Fitzjames, who offers no facial or verbal expression of sympathy. Encountering Crozier, Harry hopes for a glimmer of understanding for what he was just forced to endure.

“Dr. Goodsir, I want you to open Irving’s stomach,” the captain says simply. 

_Doctor Goodsir_. Not Harry. He will ever be only a doctor in this camp, and now he has a doctor’s duty to perform.

“Good,” Harry says, bitterness and business combined. 

Under many watchful eyes, Harry sets to work, slicing and cutting, until he extracts something that causes the blood to drain from his face. He announces his findings: seal meat, barely digested.

“They fed him,” he says in a grey voice.

He hears words uttered by the occupants of the tent, words that blend and then fade into the background, obscured by Harry’s thoughts about what has really happened here today. Cornelius Hickey murdered two men and tricked three others into murdering five of Silna’s friends. Because of Cornelius Hickey, Harry was forced to say goodbye to Silna.

He is jolted from his thoughts when he hears Captain Crozier say a particular word that brightens his heart in this otherwise bleak situation. 

Harry has never in his life wished death on anyone - but for Mr. Hickey, he will make his first exception. He can’t wait to see him hang from the gallows.

  


11.

Harry doesn’t know how things could get any worse.

He’s been taken from Terror Camp, against his will, and expected to act as doctor for Hickey’s band of mutineers. These are despicable men, but having taken his medical oath years ago, Harry is obligated to do his duty without prejudice. However, he no longer feels inclined to be tactful or gentle in his demeanor. He bluntly gives facts and dutifully administers remedies, while offering nothing extra in the way of conversation. 

Thankfully, he sleeps alone in a medical tent and is allowed to keep to himself when he’s awake. When he sits alone on the barrel by his tent, eating from ship’s china, he looks across camp to see Lieutenant Hodgson sitting alone, yet nearby the other men, eating from the same china, and forced to sit on a barrel of his own with a crate of Goldner tins as his footrest; a humiliated officer on a splintered wooden throne. Despite Hodgson’s role in the killing of Silna’s friends, which ultimately resulted in her forced departure, Harry does feel a sliver of sympathy for the man.

Harry struggles daily to reconcile what his life means, if anything, without Silna. He has no idea where Captains Crozier and Fitzjames may be, and he wonders whether or not they may be trying to find this camp. As underappreciated as he had felt in Terror Camp, he longs to see the friendly faces of the captains, Mr. Bridgens, and Mr. Hartnell. 

Instead, on a daily basis, he must see the faces of three of his least favorite people: Sergeant Tozer, Mr. Des Voeux, and Mr. Hickey. 

  


Harry finds out that things can definitely get worse.

After killing Mr. Gibson in Harry’s presence, Mr. Hickey commands Harry to cut into Gibson’s body; not as a doctor, but as a butcher preparing cuts of meat to be consumed. 

“It’s why you were brought,” Hickey reveals.

Harry refuses, prompting Hickey to announce that he will cut into Lieutenant Hodgson for every hour Harry continues to disobey.

Hickey offers this advice: _Don’t indulge your morals over your practicals._

What Hickey doesn’t know is that Harry has balanced his morals and practicals equally on two recent occasions. He conducted his practical experiment on Jacko, while knowing that it would likely kill her, because it was his moral duty to work to spare the men from lead poisoning. Most recently, he released Silna from his life, knowing that it was both the practical and moral thing to do. 

Harry ultimately succumbs to Hickey’s command in order to spare another man pain. Hickey likely thought himself oh, so clever – but his advice was flawed. Harry has outsmarted him by indulging his morals in his decision. 

The deed finished, he trudges towards the meal table and, without a word, dumps two bags of meat on the ground, then turns and goes back to his tent.

Harry is adamant that he won’t eat human meat – and by some miracle, Hickey doesn’t force him to do so. A small mercy, but Harry is certain it will be only temporary. In time, another man will be butchered and consumed. He goes through the list of men in his mind, wondering who may be next: who is the most ill among them… who seems to be falling out of Hickey’s favour… who might Hickey perceive to be his biggest threat… 

Late that night, after the men have made a dinner of Mr. Gibson, Harry lies in his tent, feigning sleep, while listening to the man he spared earlier that day. Lieutenant Hodgson had slipped into the tent, and now tells a story of his having attended a Papist church and taken the Eucharist, and of how he had felt clean after doing so. Then, Hodgson unwittingly plants the seed of an idea into Harry’s head by saying, “If I were a braver man, I’d kill Mr. Hickey, though it would mean my death, too.” 

After Hodgson leaves the tent, Harry continues to lie awake, coming up with a plan that should kill Mr. Hickey and the others in camp. Let all the others die along with Hickey; no one has a chance for survival out here. Harry’s plan will also bring him a welcome death, in a mode entirely of his own choosing. Again, he has found a balance between moral and practical. 

The following morning, Harry sees Captain Crozier arriving at camp, but not as rescuer. He’s been taken prisoner, and appears to have been beaten, his face bloodied. If Hickey has any shred of decency left, he should allow medical assistance for the captain.

Harry gets his wish, but it’s not a happy reunion by any means. As he cleans Crozier’s wounds, he divulges any information he can remember about the creature’s whereabouts, and about who hold guns. He also reveals the grim news that cannibalism has begun in this camp. 

It pains Harry to ask after “her” (he can’t bear to say her name), but he must, for his own peace of mind. The Captain assures him that Lady Silence is certainly alive and with her people by now.

“Good,” Harry says. Silna is safe; it’s all he ever wanted for her. She’ll go on living her life as it always meant to be. A life without him. 

“Good.” Any lingering doubts about the decision he made last night are gone. He’ll carry out his plan, but he’ll spare the captain. If anyone here deserves to live, it’s Captain Crozier. Harry gives specific directions about what he should do if a meal is made of him. The captain nods, confused, and leaves the tent.

Now Harry may proceed as planned. 

For the first time since joining the expedition, Harry knows he has total control over a situation, and that he can be certain of its outcome. He rises from his bed, ready to begin. 

Hickey’s voice rings, unbidden, in Harry’s mind: _Don’t you want to live?_

_No_ , Harry fights back. _The answer is No. There is nothing left to live for._

Hickey’s voice taunts him again: _Don’t indulge your morals over your practicals._

“What I am about to do is entirely practical for all concerned,” Harry counters aloud. “But I’m about to outsmart you again, Mr. Hickey.”

_We’ll make the best of a bad situation._

“Oh, I think not.”

_I am now deciding –_

“ _I_ am deciding. You are not. _Goodbye_ , Mr. Hickey.” Harry erases Hickey’s voice, words, and image from his consciousness forever.

He goes to his medicine chest, creaks open the lid, and selects three bottles.

A bottle opened; its liquid poured into a washbowl.

A second bottle opened and emptied in similar fashion.

A cloth dipped into the toxic solution several times, and rubbed across most of his body, excepting his feet.

A resolute gulping down of the full contents of a third bottle.

Harry puts the bottles back into the chest and closes it. He lingers a moment, his fingertips on the lid, and thinks of Silna. Does she still think of him? Does she occasionally look at the heart necklace and remember the happiness they shared? Has she ever written _Harry_ in Inuktitut, shown her friends, and told them their story? Or has she forgotten him… 

He dresses for Death, donning socks, trousers, braces, and fully buttoned vest. Sitting formally, he adjusts his cravat just-so and straightens his shirt collar for the last time. 

He thought this through in advance; he knows he must wait before proceeding to the final step. 

While he waits, he thinks of his mother. If a rescue party should ever happen to set foot on this island and find his personals, they’ll be taken back to London. There, his mother will notice that the heart necklace is missing. She may think it lost, but Harry hopes she would think he’d found his “special someone.” It grieves him that his mother will never know to whom he gave the necklace. He had once dreamed of introducing Silna to her.

But some dreams are never meant to come true, he reminds himself. No matter how much you may love someone. 

_Silna…_

He doubles over, stomach cramping, breath coming in short gasps. The expected pains and spasms have begun. Timing is essential now. Suicide this is, and later, murder – but this must be made to appear a convincing suicide. There can be no suspicion otherwise. 

Fighting through tremors, Harry manages to unfold a bundle of cloth, exposing two large shards of glass left over from Jacko’s jar.

He’ll only need one.

Dreams, whether good, bad, fulfilled, or not, can only live as long as their dreamer lives.

_Silna…_

Harry grasps a shard in his right hand and lies back on his bed,

_Mother…_

opens his left hand, applies the jagged edge of the glass to his left wrist,

_Captain…_

successfully makes a deep vertical incision,

_God…_

shifts the glass to his other hand,

_please…_

slices into his left wrist,

_forgive me…_

and waits for his dreams to die.

  


**Author's Note:**

> I love them; what can I say...


End file.
